


The Most Convincing Lie

by always1895



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A Little bit of Homophobia, Bisexual John, Cuddling, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gay Sherlock, John pretends not to like the jeans but he really does, M/M, Protective John, Sharing a Bed, Sherlock wears jeans, Spooning, Virgin Sherlock, hand-holding, mentions of bullying, there's going to be so much cuddling in this fic you guys, they briefly solve a kidnapping case
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 04:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8130605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/always1895/pseuds/always1895
Summary: How on earth was he going to manage this situation? He needed to think. Begin with the facts.1. Mummy and Father are insisting on meeting John this weekend, because they believe that he is Sherlock's boyfriend. 2. John is decidedly not Sherlock's boyfriend. Unfortunately.3. Sherlock was rather trapped.But there had to be options. There are always options. Think.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [假戏真做](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8517991) by [LoveBBCSH](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveBBCSH/pseuds/LoveBBCSH)



> Fake relationship has always been my favourite trope, so I figured this was a good way to throw myself back in to the world of writing fanfic! I basically took a prompt that I wrote for RPing and I've started turning it into a full fic. I can't make any promises about when I'll update, but I promise that more is coming at some point. 
> 
> Tags will be added as I go, and the rating may go up in later chapters. 
> 
> Not edited by anyone other than me.

"Mummy, there's no reason for you to meet him," Sherlock argued, rolling his eyes, despite the fact that his mother wouldn't be able to see the gesture over the phone.

"No reason for a mother to want to meet her baby's boyfriend?" Mummy squawked indignantly.

"Don't call him that, it's juvenile. I prefer the term 'partner,'" Sherlock corrected imperiously. "And I'm thirty-five years old, stop calling me a baby." He grouchily rolled over on the sofa to press his face against the fabric of the back cushion.

"Sherlock, you've never had a boyfriend before, I'm allowed to be curious," she insisted. "You've been together for more than a year now, surely that's worthy of meeting the parents. You'll come to stay with us this weekend, no ifs, ands, or buts about it."

"But Mummy..." Sherlock protested, his voice nearly a whine.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you and John are spending the weekend with us and that's final," Mummy interrupted sternly. 

Sherlock made a disgruntled noise but didn't bother arguing further, knowing that it would be fruitless.

"Good, that's settled!" Mummy said cheerily. "I have to be off, dear, your Father is nearly done making dinner. We'll see you and John on Friday!"

"Bye, Mummy," Sherlock said grudgingly before hanging up. He rolled back over and contemplated the phone for a moment before throwing it against John's armchair in frustration. 

How on earth was he going to manage this situation? He needed to think. Begin with the facts.

1\. Mummy and Father are insisting on meeting John this weekend, because they believe that he is Sherlock's boyfriend. 

2\. John is decidedly not Sherlock's boyfriend. Unfortunately.

3\. Sherlock was rather trapped.

But there had to be options. There are always options. Think.

1\. Fake a case, an illness, or perhaps a last minute shift at the clinic for John. He'd already used this excuse many times to avoid this exact situation, Mummy wouldn't accept it any longer. Besides, it also presented only a temporary solution to the problem. Mummy wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d met John, and even if he did manage to get out of this weekend, she would schedule them in for the next one. Not ideal. 

2\. Explain the situation to John and ask if he would play along. This presents several issues, the first being that Sherlock would have to admit to John that he'd told his parents that they were dating, while they are definitely not. John gets rather defensive when people assume that, and he would probably get angry with Sherlock. Besides, even if he did agree, John's acting skills do leave something to be desired.

3\. Wait a couple of days and then call Mummy and tell her that they broke up. That would put an end to the whole thing, and he could tell Mummy they'd gone back to just being friends, which would not exactly be a lie. They are friends. John would never have to know, and Mummy would leave him alone for awhile. However, this would mean that Mummy would eventually start trying to introduce him to people again, and call him up constantly worrying about him being alone forever, which was the very reason that he lied about John in the first place.

Sherlock couldn't think of any other possible solutions, and he wasn't particularly thrilled with any of the options he had come up with.

"Idiot," he chastised himself. What had he been thinking, lying about it in the first place? He'd known it would get out of hand, and yet, here he was, trying to decide between three unappealing solutions. He knew what he'd been thinking though. He'd been thinking that it was tedious, having to listen to Mummy worry about him being lonely and being forced to meet eligible bachelors whenever he visited. Him dating John...that had simply slipped out as a way to satisfy her, it was never meant to get this far. He was going to tell her they'd broken up after a few months, but Mummy had been so happy for him, and even Father had expressed how pleased he was that Sherlock was finally settling down. He didn't want to make them unhappy.

He had to be honest with himself though, at the very least. He'd enjoyed it as well, pretending that he and John were dating. Getting to make up stories of all the dates they'd been on, the flowers John had brought him, how happy they were together...it was easy to slip into the fantasy world he'd created. It was as close to the real thing as he would ever get. Sherlock knew that John was bisexual, though he did date women more frequently than men, but there was no way that John would be attracted to him. No, John liked people who were bubbly, and funny, and just...good. Sherlock was none of those things. So he'd had to satisfy himself with the lies that he'd created for his parents.

Sherlock scrubbed his hands through his hair in frustration, before pausing quite suddenly and falling completely still, as he reconsidered option #2. If he could convince John to play along for the weekend, he would get even closer to the real thing than he ever had with his fantasy world. He would get to pretend to date John, his parents would be pleased and would never know that he lied, and John...what to offer John in order to make it worth it for him. Sherlock steepled his fingers beneath his chin for a moment before an idea struck him.

"John, pass me my phone," he shouted, closing his eyes and extending one arm, palm outstretched. He waited for a long moment before remembering that John wasn't home, that was why he'd been able to talk to Mummy out in the sitting room. This whole ordeal had gotten him rather flustered. He reluctantly unfolded himself from the couch and crossed the room, picking up his phone and curling up in John's chair instead.

John had been at the clinic for the day shift, which ended at 5:00pm. Sherlock glanced at the time on his phone. 5:21pm. John would just be leaving, as he was courteous and always took the time to file his paperwork properly and tidy up his office. He glanced out the window. Sunny, people wearing open jackets. John would choose to walk. Perfect.

John. I need a favour. SH

Yes, that would work. John was a doctor, he was used to looking after people's needs. And Sherlock rarely asked for help, this would intrigue him enough to keep an open mind. Sherlock sent the text, and waited, his foot tapping impatiently.

It only took John a couple of minutes to reply, which was as Sherlock expected given the time of day.

No, I won't clear out my quarter of the fridge so that you can replace my meager food supply with body parts. JW

Sherlock frowned at John's reply. A quarter of their fridge was being used to store food? That was ridiculous, they could make do with less than that. Something to be dealt with later.

It's unrelated to the fridge, your excessive amount of food is safe for the moment. SH

Yeah, it's really not excessive. But alright, what do you need then? JW

Sherlock took slightly longer than usual to compose this text and reread it. It needed to be formulated properly so as not to frighten John off from the very start. Once he was satisfied, he sent the text and stared at the screen, waiting.

My parents are forcing me to spend the weekend with them and I need you to accompany me. SH

Not really sure why you need me, but alright, yeah. I could do with a weekend away and I've always wanted to meet your parents. JW

Sherlock allowed himself a small smile at John's reply. Good. John was amenable to at least one aspect of the weekend. Now, how to let him know about the part he was much more likely to have objections to? Straight-forward was probably best.

Excellent. I also need you to pretend that we're dating. SH

That should do it.

John took longer to reply than before, and Sherlock began pacing about the sitting room as he waited. Was John going to be angry? Why was he taking so long to answer? Sherlock nearly jumped when his phone finally vibrated in his hand.

And there it is. Why on earth do you need me to do that? JW

Because that is what my parents believe to be the truth. SH

Why do they believe that? JW

Sherlock paused, his fingers hovering over the screen of his phone. He could lie, and tell John that’s they’d assumed and hadn’t believed him when he denied it, but lying had gotten him into this mess in the first place, so perhaps the truth would be best at this point in time.

Probably due to the fact that I told them that it was. SH

Sherlock. Why would you do that? JW

It's complicated. SH

If you want me to agree to this, you're going to need to give me more information than that. JW

John was right, of course. Sherlock owed him more of an explanation, which he would provide willingly, very aware of the fact that John had not yet said no.

My parents were calling me constantly, expressing their concern that I would end up alone. Whenever I visited, there would be someone else for me to meet. It was tedious, John. You were the most convincing lie. SH

There, that should do it. Focus not at all on Sherlock's feelings, but rather on his parents. Perfect.

So, that's all I am? A convincing lie? JW

Sherlock frowned at his phone, unable to decipher whether or not John was upset without being able to see him or hear the tone of his voice. Time to salvage the situation.

Of course not. You're my friend. You were just...the only believable lie, given that I don’t spend much time with anyone other than you. SH

There was another long delay before John's reply came through, during which Sherlock alphabetised John's bookshelf of terrible murder mysteries and romance novels as a way to deal with his anxiously twitching fingers.

I don't know if this is a good idea, Sherlock. I'm not saying no, I'm just...not sure. JW

Not a no. Sherlock could work with that. Time for two things John was always going on about: negotiation and compromise. He'd just begun to type up his arguments when his phone received another message from John.

Look, I'll be home in half an hour. Can we sit down and talk about this over dinner? I'll pick up Thai on my way. I know you think talking is unnecessary, but we really need to discuss this if we're going to do it. JW

Acceptable. SH

Good. See you soon. JW

Sherlock didn't bother responding. Obviously he would see John soon, there was no need to repeat it back to him.

Sherlock spent his time waiting for John in a whirlwind. John liked when things were tidy, and he'd be more amenable to the plan if the kitchen was clean. Sherlock quickly packaged his experiments in closed and labelled containers, cleared the table, and sterilized all of the kitchen surfaces. He even moved some of his scientific equipment into his bedroom in order to clear more space. That should do the trick. He filled the kettle and put it on the stove, turning it on so that the water would boil when John would arrive, a time that Sherlock had calculated based on his average walking speed and the average wait time at his favourite Thai restaurant.

At 6:02 (one minute later than Sherlock had anticipated, but how was he to know that the Thai restaurant was having a special deal that would increase clientele?) Sherlock heard John's footsteps on the stairs. He quickly poured the hot water into two mugs with one of John's favourite tea bags in each and set them on the kitchen table, which he had set with plates and utensils.

John, upon entering the flat, blinked at the kitchen and Sherlock, who was frozen as though caught in the act, then placed the takeaway bag on the table. "Have you poisoned my tea again?" he asked lightly, shedding his jacket and hanging it up.

"Don't be ridiculous, John," Sherlock scoffed. "Simply setting the table for dinner. You can have my mug and I'll drink yours if you're so concerned."

"That won't be necessary," John replied, toeing off his shoes. He didn't always take his shoes off in the flat, but Sherlock had noticed that he liked to do so after a long shift. "What's all this about then?" he asked, gesturing at the kitchen and raising an eyebrow.

"No reason in particular," Sherlock said airily. "You said you were bringing dinner so I figured you'd like to eat it in a tidied and sanitized kitchen."

"I'd always like to eat in a tidied and sanitized kitchen, not just this evening, but thanks, this is nice," John replied, one eyebrow still raised nearly to his hairline. "You must really not want to tell your parents that you lied."

Sherlock scowled. He shouldn't have been surprised that John had seen through his plan. In hindsight, cleaning the entire kitchen and setting the table, considering the state he usually left it in, had made it rather obvious what he was up to.

"Shut up, John," he said sourly, throwing himself into one of the kitchen chairs and slouching down, his arms crossed over his chest.

John chuckled. "No need to sulk, I haven't said no, remember? Besides, the clean kitchen has put me into a good mood. Sit up and we can talk about it over food, yeah?" he said, amused.

Sherlock pouted for a moment longer out of principle while John dished the food out onto their respective plates, but eventually gave in and reached for his fork. It had been a day and a half since he'd eaten anything, he could manage some of this. Besides, John always got overly pleased when Sherlock ate, as though he'd done something particularly noteworthy, which was ridiculous, but Sherlock could use it to his advantage today.

"Good," John said, looking pleased as Sherlock took a mouthful of chicken pad si ew. He allowed them both to chew and swallow a few more bites before he spoke again. "So. Do you really think that us pretending to date is a better solution than just telling your parents the truth?" he asked eventually.

"Yes," Sherlock replied immediately. He sighed when John arched an eyebrow in disbelief and as an indication to explain further. "John. You obviously don't understand how persistent my mother can be when she has her mind set on something. She was calling me nearly every day, asking if I'd met anyone. Sometimes when I was forced to visit, there would be several people over that I would be forced to socialize with, and they would all be coincidentally single. If I told her the truth now, it would start up again, and it was intolerable. This is...it's better this way. If we visit her this once, hopefully she'll be satisfied for a long while, and I can figure something out before she forces us to visit again."

John hummed around a mouthful of pork noodles. "I can see how that would get irritating, but...I don't know, Sherlock," he said, setting his chopsticks down. "I know we could pull it off, but it's so dishonest. And...I dunno, don't you think it will be a little awkward? Us having to hold hands and kiss in front of your parents when we're not actually, you know, dating?"

"We don't have to do all that," Sherlock said, waving his chopsticks around dramatically. "We don't really need to show any more affection than usual, do we? People already assume we're dating based on our normal interactions."

"Well, yeah, but those are strangers, mostly. Won't your parents expect some sort of affection, or, I dunno, intimacy?" John asked, tilting his head to one side in confusion. "Were you not affectionate with your past partners in front of your parents?"

Sherlock suddenly became very interested in his plate, averting his eyes from John. “I’ve never…that is to say…my parents have never seen me with a romantic partner before,” he said, pushing his food around his plate with his fork. 

“Oh,” John said, falling silent momentarily. “Well, it makes sense then that they would want to meet me, if you’ve never introduced them to anyone before. We’ll have to come up with a story, I suppose, make sure we’re on the same page so we don’t give it away.”

It took a moment for John’s words to sink in. “You’ll do it?” Sherlock asked in surprise.

"Yeah, I'll do it," John replied with a shrug. "Nothing else going on this weekend. And if this is really how you want to handle the situation, I'm not going to stop you. I still do think it's not the greatest idea, but I'll go along with it. I have a request though. We're going to have to come up with a story together and stick to it, and I think we need to practice a bit of intimacy. Discuss what's allowed, what isn't, make sure we look as though we're familiar and comfortable with the touching that we agree on. Otherwise, your parents will figure us out in a minute flat."

Sherlock was more than a little surprised. In fact, he was rather gobsmacked. Not only had John agreed to pretend to be his romantic partner for the weekend, but he was also apparently invested enough to require rehearsals. Intimacy rehearsals. This was turning out even better than Sherlock had expected.

“Yes, that’s…fine. Tomorrow evening?” Sherlock replied, forcing his voice and expression to remain nonchalant. 

“Tomorrow evening, it’s a date,” John repeated with a nod and a smile, standing and taking his plate over to the sink. “Try to keep the kitchen clean until then, yeah? I’m going to go watch telly and then head to bed. Goodnight, Sherlock.” And with that, he left the kitchen and Sherlock could hear the soft thump as he sank into the sofa cushions in the sitting room. 

Sherlock sat frozen at the kitchen table for a long while. It’s a date? John was just saying that because of the circumstances, wasn’t he? Real dates didn’t include intimacy rehearsals because one of the participants has parents that he’d lied to about the state of his romantic life and now they have to spend the weekend faking a romantic relationship. Surely that was not a standard date night activity. No, John was using it as a figure of speech, that’s all. It wasn’t a date. Surely not.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock does some Very Scientific Research, holds his own hand, and discovers how warm John is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left a comment, left kudos, subscribed, or bookmarked the fic so far! You guys are lovely. :) 
> 
> This took a little bit longer than I wanted to get finished, but it just wasn't coming as easily as the first chapter. I'm sticking with it though, even if I'm a bit slower on the updates than I'd like.

Sherlock was rather satisfied and pleased with himself following his conversation with John. He'd gotten John to agree to pretend to be his boyfriend for the weekend, and he hadn't even had to offer to clean out the fridge or pick up milk for a month as he'd anticipated. Really, things couldn't have gone much better. 

That feeling lasted all of an hour before the panic began to set in. John wanted them to practice intimacy. What, exactly, would that entail? Hand holding? Cuddling? Kissing? Sherlock had no experience in any of those aspects, really, but that wasn't what was worrying him. No, he could do research and sham his way through it well enough, he was certain. What did worry him was the possibility that at some point during these intimacy rehearsals he would do something to indicate his true feelings for John, leading to his inevitable departure from Sherlock’s life. Romantic feelings would make John uncomfortable and he would leave, Sherlock was certain of it. He couldn't find out, that simply wasn’t an option. 

Research. If he could prepare himself as much as possible, then maybe he would be able to remain calm, keep his expression neutral. Yes, he would mentally prepare himself and he would be ready for the following evening. 

By the time he had come to that conclusion, John had switched off the telly and gone to bed. Perfect. Sherlock closed himself in his bedroom with his laptop and settled in for a long night of research. He'd contemplated sitting on the sofa, as that was probably where they would have their intimacy rehearsal, but he decided it wasn't worth the risk of John coming downstairs for whatever reason and finding him researching how to hold hands. 

He began with that, hand holding. He read several articles that provided a step by step process of how to hold hands, though he found it was rather hard to understand thoroughly without a practical application. He tried holding his own hand but the angle was all wrong and after a few moments he gave up. It was impractical to not have the use of either of his hands anyway, he couldn't scroll to see the next step of the hand holding process. Instead, he sat with one hand resting on the pillow beside him, palm facing up and fingers curled in loosely. It felt a bit ridiculous without another hand to actually hold, but at least he would be used to the positioning. 

Further research on intimacy between partners ranged from pet names (Sherlock made a face at nearly all of them) to cuddling (Sherlock thought he was probably too bony for it) to explicit sexual activity (Sherlock slammed his laptop shut and tried to ignore the fact that his pulse was racing). Eventually, he set his laptop aside, and as the sun began to rise, he made a list of every intimate activity that he believed that he and John should practice. He was as prepared as he could be really. With the list on his bedside table, and the sounds of John bustling about as he got ready for work, Sherlock drifted off to sleep. And if one of his hands was resting palm up in the middle of his bed, well. That was simply a coincidence. 

//

Sherlock woke in the late morning, feeling more antsy than usual. He contemplated starting a new experiment, but decided against it, given the good mood that the clean kitchen had put John in the night before. He couldn't risk John changing his mind at this point. Instead, he reread his list and then puttered nervously around the flat for most of the afternoon, and playing his violin for a couple of hours. Lestrade texted him about a case, but Sherlock turned him down, knowing that a case could extend late into the evening, and he was not willing to jeopardise his scheduled intimacy rehearsal with John. 

When John arrived home that evening, Sherlock had showered, organised his sheet music in ascending chronological order, and straightened up his sock index, though he tried to make it look as though he hadn't spent the entire day waiting nervously. Being nervous was ridiculous, it was only John, and people were intimate daily, there was theoretically nothing to worry about. Sherlock gave himself a shake and joined John in the kitchen. 

"You joining me for dinner again?" John asked as he pulled their leftovers from the night before out of the fridge. 

Sherlock ignored John's question and instead presented the list he'd written. "These are all the activities that I believe we should practice before we visit my parents. It's very comprehensive, but if you have anything that you believe should be added, I’ll consider it," he said in a rush. 

John raised an eyebrow and took the list from Sherlock, scanning over it quickly. "Well, you were definitely thorough," he said with a chuckle. 

"Yes, well," Sherlock replied, feeling a slight flush creeping up his cheeks. "It's not my area of expertise, so I did do some research," he admitted. 

"I'm not a complete idiot, Sherlock. I had figured out that you don't have much experience in this area. Which is fine, by the way," John added quickly. "That's why I suggested practising. And as thorough as your list is, don't you think it makes more sense to let me lead on this one?" 

"I suppose," Sherlock acquiesced with a frown. "But what's wrong with my list?"

"Nothing's wrong with it, exactly," John said carefully. "It's just...well. In my experience, some of these things are not generally acceptable in front of parents. Number eight, hands in each other's pockets? Yeah, not in front of parents. Same with number fifteen, tracing the inseam of your partner's trousers at the upper inner thigh? Weirdly specific, and not in front of parents. Number twenty-seven, sitting in your partner's lap? Definitely not something to be done in front of parents."

Sherlock was positive that his cheeks were tinged pink with a hateful blush. How had he so poorly judged which levels of intimacy were appropriate in a familial situation? Obviously, his research had not been thorough enough, and he’d let his nerves get the better of him. Of course partners didn’t sit in each other’s laps in front of their families, it seemed stupidly obvious now. 

John interrupted Sherlock’s internal monologue, which was mostly comprised of him calling himself an idiot anyway. "Here's my suggestion," John said, folding up the list and handing it back to Sherlock. "I'll reheat the leftovers and we can have a quick dinner, then we can move on to practising, since you're obviously antsy to get started. We forget the list, and you trust me to take the lead on this. Can you do that?"

"Fine," Sherlock grumbled. He was more embarrassed than anything else, but he supposed that John was right. It wouldn't do to practice things that wouldn’t have a practical application, and John knew what he was doing. Sherlock tried not to think about how many different sets of parents John had met with people that he was dating, because it made his gut twist with an emotion that he grouchily identified as jealousy. 

//

As promised, John didn't dawdle over dinner. 

Half an hour later, John had cleared their plates, brewed tea, and was ushering Sherlock into the sitting room. They settled on the sofa, and Sherlock tried his best to look like his usual stoic and aloof self, when in reality, he could already feeling his pulse picking up speed. 

"Right, so," John said, once they were settled. "We can start with hand-holding, you weren't wrong on that one. It's pretty normal for a parental situation, I would say, and it's something simple and small that will still get the point across, hopefully." He held out his left hand to Sherlock expectantly. 

Sherlock surreptitiously wiped his hand on his dressing gown before carefully placing it in John's. It wasn't at all like he'd practiced. For one thing, his palm was sweating. Ridiculous nerves, though John was kind enough not to mention it. For another, John's hand was solid, and calloused, and warm from carrying their mugs. It was...not at all unpleasant, Sherlock decided. 

John lowered their clasped hands to rest on his thigh. "There," he said with a satisfied nod. "This is a way we can sit often this weekend. It's affectionate, but not inappropriately so, and not at all unusual as a gesture between couples in a family-type situation. You alright with this?"

Sherlock nodded, his eyes fixed on their joined hands. He was quiet for a long moment before speaking. "Now what?" he asked eventually. He was in no rush to stop holding John's hand, but he was certain that there must be more to it than this. 

John chuckled. "Well, we'd be talking to your parents or something, but for now, we should talk, while you get comfortable with this," he said, giving Sherlock's hand a gentle squeeze. "We need to figure a couple of things out anyway, might as well take the opportunity."

"Alright," Sherlock agreed sceptically. "What do we need to figure out?"

"Well, how we got together, for one," John replied. "That's something we definitely should agree on. We can't be giving them stories that don't match up."

"Logical," Sherlock commented, with a nod. "Well, what's your idea? You're the expert."  
John hummed thoughtfully. "Well, what have you told them so far?" he asked. "How long do they think we've been dating?"

"We celebrated our one year anniversary last month," Sherlock said, thinking back on everything he'd ever told Mummy. "I never told them how we got together, just that we had. I'd tell her about dates that we'd been on, things of that sort. But it's a fairly blank slate, in terms of how it all started."

John hummed again and sipped his tea. "After a case then," he mused eventually. "Maybe I thought you were seriously injured and said something, then it turned out that you were alright, but you expressed your feelings as well."

"It's plausible," Sherlock said with a nod. 

"Good, we'll go with that then," John agreed, sounding rather pleased with himself. 

In the following twenty or so minutes, they hashed out some of the details pertaining to their fake courtship. Sherlock didn't contribute much, mostly just deferring to John's judgement. After the first few minutes, Sherlock was much less aware of the fact that they were holding hands. He hadn't forgotten it completely, but the comfortable weight of John's hand in his had become just that: comfortable. It felt natural, and right, and good, and Sherlock was disappointed when John pulled his hand away. 

"Right, so, seems we're both fine with the hand-holding, yeah? Shall we move on?" John asked, looking to Sherlock for his approval. 

Sherlock tried to ignore the relief that he felt knowing that they weren't done yet, that there was still practicing to be done. "Yes, let's move on," he said briskly. "I'm sure we have plenty to cover, even if your list isn't as long as mine."

John merely chuckled at the mention of Sherlock's list and scooted closer instead of replying. He stopped when their sides were pressed together, and carefully placed his arm around Sherlock's shoulders. Then he paused, waiting. 

Sherlock was frozen. John's arm was warm and solid, and it was settling around his shoulders and Sherlock was fairly certain that he'd forgotten how to breathe. John gave him a minute to control himself before he gave him a gentle tug.

"Come on, you have to relax a bit," John coaxed him. "Lean against me, believe me, you're not too heavy. No one will believe that we're dating if you go stiff as board whenever I come near you. There we go."

Once Sherlock was arranged to John's satisfaction, he forced himself to take slow even breaths. His head was cushioned in the crook of John's shoulder, and John's arms was around the back of his neck, his hand dangling in front of Sherlock's chest. It was certainly warm, being tucked this close, and Sherlock was surprised to find that the position was comfortable, once he'd managed to get himself marginally relaxed. 

"You good?" John asked mildly," and Sherlock nodded, infinitely grateful to John in that moment for not further mentioning Sherlock's obvious discomfort. 

"Perfectly fine," Sherlock managed, his voice only slightly hoarse, a feat he was rather proud of. 

"We can sit like this for a bit, if that's alright with you. Here, let me just..." John set his mug down, then took Sherlock's and set it down as well, before reaching for the television remote. "I think they’re running Great British Bake-Off reruns tonight," he commented, flicking through the channels.

Once John had found the baking show, and Sherlock had made his token protests, they settled in to watch, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to be cuddled up together on the sofa in front of the telly on a Wednesday evening. 

Sherlock, though he secretly enjoyed cooking shows, found it difficult to keep his eyes open. John was just so warm, and his shoulder was inexplicably comfortable, more comfortable than any pillow Sherlock could ever remember having used. He told himself that he would just close his eyes for a moment, but soon he was drifting off. He felt something press gently against his scalp, lingering just for a moment. He hummed, allowing himself to dream just for a moment that it could have been John pressing a kiss to his hair as he succumbed to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock solves a case involving kidnapped children, and there is more hand-holding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my plans, these two were already supposed to be visiting Sherlock's parents, but I got carried away writing them interacting with the kidnapped kids. Oops. We'll get there eventually!

Sherlock awoke the next morning when he heard the pipes creaking as the shower was turned on. He was in his bed, as usual, and yet for some reason it felt odd. It took only a moment before the previous evening came flooding back. He'd fallen asleep on the sofa, with John's arm around him. He groaned and buried his face in his pillow for a few seconds before stalking out the sitting room and plopping down in his armchair to wait for John to emerge. He could hear John humming in the shower. What had put him in such a good mood?

"You let me fall asleep last night during our intimacy rehearsal," Sherlock said accusingly, the second that the bathroom door cracked open. "How are we going to get through everything in time if you keep letting me fall asleep?"

"Well, good morning to you too," John said cheerfully as he emerged from the washroom along with a cloud of steam. He had a towel slung low on his hips and another in his hands that he was using to dry his hair roughly. His chest was flushed pink from the heat of the shower, and there were a few missed droplets trickling down his back. Not that Sherlock had noticed any of that, of course not. It wouldn't do to stare. Sherlock was fairly certain that flatmates weren't supposed to ogle each other. "Did you just call last night an 'intimacy rehearsal’?" John asked curiously, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

"Answer the question, John," Sherlock said grumpily, fixing his gaze somewhere above John's shoulder. 

"We got through the important stuff," John replied with a shrug, draping his damp hair towel over one shoulder. "As long as you're comfortable with what we did last night, it'll be fine. Everything else will be similar enough. We'll fit in another 'intimacy rehearsal' before we go. It'll be fine." He continued when Sherlock still looked unconvinced. "Besides, you were quite soundly asleep. You didn't wake at all when I carried you to bed."  


"You carried me to bed?" Sherlock asked, sounding alarmed. He’d assumed that he’d dragged himself up there at some point. When he was tired he didn’t always remember all the details of how he managed to get himself to bed. 

John shrugged again. "Course I did," he replied easily. "You were draped all over me like an octopus and I was getting tired myself, but a night on the sofa wouldn't have been good for either of us. You were light as a feather, Sherlock, you really need to eat more."

Sherlock gaped at John for a long moment before snapping his mouth shut abruptly. John had carried him to bed and he'd slept right through it, missed the whole thing. Completely unacceptable. Perhaps at some point during the weekend he could pretend to be asleep so as to recreate the situation, but with the sole purpose of being conscious in order to remember the whole thing. Yes, definitely something to consider. 

"Right, I'm going to go finish getting ready for work, I'll see you tonight," John said, sounding amused and not at all put out that Sherlock had stopped participating in their conversation. 

With that, John disappeared up the stairs, and Sherlock was left in the sitting room scheduling in an afternoon of practicing his pretend sleeping.

//

Sherlock's plans were derailed shortly after John left for work, when Lestrade called him with a case. He was going to refuse, he had practicing to do after all, but there were kidnapped children involved, and though Sherlock would never admit it, he could never leave the lives of children in the hands of Scotland Yard's incompetence. He dressed quickly and was in a cab in minutes, phone in hand to text John.

Kidnapping. Text Lestrade for address once your shift is over. SH

Lestrade had filled Sherlock in over the phone, and he already had several theories. A pair of four year old boys, best friends, gone missing while playing outside with their preschool class. If Sherlock could see the play area, speak to the teacher, the other children, and the parents, he'd have it solved. Once he knew who had taken them, finding them would hopefully be an easier task.

Sherlock ignored the NSY officers when he arrived at the preschool, instead heading straight for a rather helpless looking crying man, obviously the father of one of the missing boys. After talking to him for a brief moment with more finesse than he would usually bother with, he spoke briefly to the teacher, and found that it wasn't even necessary to pull one of the other children out of class. It was the estranged sister of one of the boys' mothers, and Sherlock quickly explained to Lestrade how she was seeking revenge for the fact that her sister has always been their parents favourite. He shouted for Donovan to find the aunt's address as he slid into Lestrade's car, not even complaining when the siren was put on as they sped off.

When Donovan sent them the address a few minutes later, Sherlock forwarded it on to John before pocketing his phone. Shortly, they were pulling up in front of a rather ordinary looking house, with another police car pulling in behind them. Sherlock followed the officers inside, immediately heading for the staircase and leaving the police to handle the arrest when he heard the aunt confess that the children were upstairs.

He found the boys less than a minute later, tied up roughly with rope and in the bedroom closet. Their terrified faces peered up at him, blinking in the sudden light, and Sherlock immediately crouched down to their level.

"Hello," he said, his usual tone of voice only ever so slightly softened. "My name is Sherlock. I'm a detective, and I'm here to help you. Is it alright if I lift you out of the closet so I can see you better? Nod if that's acceptable."

Both boys nodded, their eyes wide and unblinking as Sherlock lifted them one by one out of the closet, settling them on the bed.

"Now, can I take those off for you?" Sherlock asked, indicating the gags that had been tied around the boys' heads. They nodded again, and Sherlock made swift work of untying the gags and pulling them off, careful not to snag either of the boys' hair. "There we go. What are your names?"

"I'm Luke, and he's Sam," the smaller of the two replied tentatively.

"Well, it's nice to meet you both," Sherlock said, speaking up slightly to try and cover up the sound of the aunt screaming obscenities from downstairs. "I'd shake your hands, but you're both rather tied up, aren't you?"

Luke let out a quiet giggle, and a moment later Sam did as well. Sherlock smiled slightly in relief.

"Let's get you out of the rest of those ropes, hmm?" Sherlock said. "Who wants to go first?"

"Sam can go first," Luke replied. "She tied his hands tighter and he told me they were hurting. And he's my best friend so I don't want him to be hurting. Mine are hurting too, a bit, but still do Sam's first, okay?"

"That's very noble of you," Sherlock commented, as he began to tug at the ropes tied around Sam's wrists. 

Luke shrugged as best he could with his arms still tied. "He's my best friend," he repeated. "That's why I followed him when the mean lady took him. I didn’t want him to be alone, and I'd rather that my hands hurt than his. Do you have a best friend?"

Sherlock was struggling with the ropes and eventually began patting his pockets in search of scissors, a knife, anything that might help.

"I do have a best friend," he said after a moment of silence. Both boys looked at him eagerly so he continued. "His name is John. He looks out for me too, like you two did for each other. He's saved my life on more than one occasion."

"Well, you've saved mine too, you know," came John's voice. Sherlock spun around to find John standing in the doorway, holding out a pocket knife. "Need this?"

"Yes, thank you," Sherlock said, accepting the knife and willing the flush out of his cheeks. He turned back to the boys who were considering John warily. "Oh no, you needn't worry. That's John, the one I just told you about," he explained.

"Oh, you're his best friend John!" Luke exclaimed. "I'm Luke, and this is my best friend Sam. Your best friend Sherlock is so nice!"

John grinned and stepped into the room. "He is, isn't he?" he said, glancing at Sherlock who was pointedly avoiding his gaze.

"Back to more pressing matters," Sherlock said, gesturing at the boys. "This is a pocket knife. It is sharp, but if you hold very still, I'll be able to cut the ropes off and it won't hurt at all. Can you do that?"

Both boys nodded, and soon, both were free. John checked downstairs, and once he confirmed that the aunt had already been taken away, Sherlock stood and held his hands out to Luke and Sam. "Time to go, your parents are very worried about you," he said.

Luke stood, but Sam didn't, instead tugging anxiously at Luke's sleeve. Luke leaned in and Sam whispered in his ear for a moment.

"Sam's feet are asleep," Luke reported gravely.

Sherlock's lips twitched as he forced himself not to smile. "Would it be alright if John carried you?" he asked Sam, who nodded. John scooped him up easily and Sherlock didn't miss the envious look they got from Luke. He was wondering whether he should offer, when -

"Mr. Sherlock, could you give me a piggyback ride?" Luke asked hopefully.

"I don't know, you look heavy," Sherlock said seriously before cracking a smile when Luke giggled. He lowered himself enough so that Luke could clamber on his back, and when he stood, John was beaming at him.

"Sam's heavier than me!" Luke said, from his perch on Sherlock's back. "Are you strong enough, Mr. John?"

John chuckled. "Well, I carried Mr. Sherlock the other day, and he's a bit heavier than Sam," he replied, and both boys giggled.

"Enough about that, time to go," Sherlock said, certain that his cheeks were pink as they descended the stairs.

They were greeted by several officers, including Lestrade, when they made it into the kitchen.

"Are they hurt?" Lestrade asked worriedly.

"No, they’re perfectly fine," Sherlock replied. When several odd looks were directed at Luke on his back, he rolled his eyes. "Their feet were asleep from being tied up. This was easier."

"Right," Lestrade said uncertainly. "Well, hand them off then. Wilkins will take them back to the school, their parents are waiting there."

One of the officers, presumably Wilkins (Sherlock had never bothered to learn most of their names), stepped towards John and Sam, arms outstretched.

"No!" Luke shouted in Sherlock's ear. "No! We don't want to go with him, we want Mr. John and Mr. Sherlock to take us!" He tightened his arms around Sherlock's neck.

Lestrade looked completely baffled. "Son," he said hesitantly. "I'm sorry, but Sherlock and John are busy people, and Wilkins is very nice, you'll be -"  


"We'll take them," Sherlock interrupted and Luke's hold loosened slightly. "It's fine. I don't mind. John?"

"Fine with me," John agreed easily.

Lestrade still looked skeptical, but they loaded into his car, John in the front, and Sherlock in the back, with Luke wedged in the middle between him and Sam. Luke chatted away for most of the ride, asking Sherlock a myriad of questions, and making Sam giggle. Sherlock had just finished explaining the importance of bees to the pair of them when they arrived at the school. Both children were immediately swooped out of the car by their worried parents, and Sherlock didn't even bother to school his features into a blank stare before he emerged and leaned against the parked car to observe the reunion.

"Since when do you like kids?" Lestrade asked, coming to stand beside him.

"I've always liked children," Sherlock said impatiently. "Much more than I like adults. They still have the potential to grow up not to be idiots. Children at their age learn incredibly quickly, they are absorbing new information at a significantly higher rate than adults do. Much like myself in relation to the general population."

Lestrade snorted but didn't ask anything further and Sherlock could feel John's gaze on him, so he kept his eyes determinedly fixed on Luke and Sam reuniting with their teary-eyes parents.

After a short while, Sherlock turned to John. "Well, we're not needed any longer," he said briskly. “We can stop for dinner on the way. Do you want to go to Angelo's, or -"  


Sherlock was interrupted when Luke barrelled into him, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's thighs.

"Thank you for saving us, Mr. Sherlock," he said, gazing up at him admiringly. "I hope you and Mr. John are best friends forever, just like me and Sam!"

"We will be," John interjected before Sherlock could respond.

"We will," Sherlock agreed with a nod, ruffling Luke's hair, and meeting John’s eyes for just a moment. John was smiling at him fondly, and Sherlock wasn't quite sure what to make of it. He was saved from his thoughts when he felt a gentle tapping on his back and turned to find Sam gazing up at him as well. He crouched down and Sam leaned in close to his ear.

"Thank you," Sam whispered, before heading over to John to do the same.

Sherlock pushed down the wave of affection he could feel coming over him as he watched the two boys thank John. Soon, they were alone, the children having been taken home by their families, and Lestrade having driven back to the Yard after they insisted that they didn't need a ride.

"Walk over to Angelo's then?" John asked lightly, falling into step beside Sherlock. Sherlock nodded, and they were silent for several minutes while they walked.

"You were good with them, you know," John commented eventually, breaking the comfortable silence. "Not everyone's good with kids, but they really liked you."

If it had been anyone else, Sherlock probably would have snapped, demanding to know why it was so unbelievable that he could engage successfully with children. But it was John, and John didn't intend his comment in a mean way, so Sherlock simply replied with: "I liked them too."

John was silent for another minute before - "Have you ever thought about having kids?"

Sherlock nearly stopped in his tracks, the question was so unexpected. He let out an incredulous laugh. "I hardly think my lifestyle is a good environment for a child, what with all the criminals and body parts and experiments," he replied, though he was aware that he hadn't exactly answered the question.

"Right, yeah," John added hastily. "I was just asking because your parents might ask, this weekend. People tend to ask couples who've been together for awhile if they're planning for any children."

"We can tell them…that it's not something that we've considered seriously yet, but that it's not off the table," Sherlock said carefully and John seemed satisfied with his answer.

//

Dinner was a quiet affair. The case hadn't ended with the usual adrenaline rush so Sherlock wasn't particularly hungry, though he did order himself a tiramisu which he polished off as John ate his pasta.

As they walked home, John was telling Sherlock stories about the patients he'd seen that day, and Sherlock was rather enraptured. Not because the patients were particularly interesting, but because John was completely fascinating. Quite suddenly, Sherlock felt John's hand brush his as they walked, and a moment later, John had laced their fingers together with a gentle squeeze.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, interrupting John's story.

"Holding your hand, obviously," John said mildly. "Anyways, as I was saying, once he'd shown me the -"

"Are we practicing?" Sherlock interrupted again, gesturing towards their joined hands with his free one.

"Yes," John said patiently. "Now hush and let me finish my story."

Sherlock didn't hear the end of the story or really much of anything John said for the rest of the walk. He was much too preoccupied stealing glances at their hands and worrying that he was somehow doing it wrong. Was he swinging his arm too much? Was his hand clammy? Was his grasp too tight? Too loose?

Soon, however, Sherlock relaxed into it. It was nice, holding hands while he walked with John. It began to feel almost natural, not all that much different from walking with John without holding hands. Just…ever so slightly more pleasant.

When they arrived home and John pulled his hand away in order to unlock the door, Sherlock almost managed to convince himself that he wasn't disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kudos/comments/subscriptions/bookmarks mean the world to me so thank you all! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John take a train ride, meet Sherlock's parents, and learn that dinner may be more difficult to get through than they had previously thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't love this chapter yet, but I'm sure it will grow on me eventually. 
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely comments, kudos, etc. so far!

The following afternoon saw Sherlock and John boarding a train, luggage in hand. John had insisted they pack small suitcases so they could have several clothing options, in case the weather changed. Sherlock thought it was a bit ridiculous, seeing as they were only going to be staying for two nights, but John had practically packed for him so he hadn't bothered complaining. 

Once they were seated on the train and John had ordered them two teas from the trolley, Sherlock pulled a stack of flash cards out of his pocket. "What is the date of our anniversary?" he asked, with no preamble whatsoever. 

John raised an eyebrow and tried to take the flash cards from Sherlock, who snatched his hand away and pressed the cards to his chest protectively. "What are those?" John asked, eyebrow still raised.

"Flash cards, we need to ensure that we both remember the story properly," Sherlock replied. "No looking. Our anniversary is July 17th. I'll ask you that again later." He shuffled the cards around a bit before settling on the next question. "What am I allergic to?"

"Shellfish, but it upsets your stomach, you don't go into anaphylaxis," John recited without hesitation. "But, Sherlock -"

"Where did we go for our first date?" Sherlock interrupted. 

John sighed. "Angelo's. You had chicken and I had eggplant parmesan," he replied. "But Sherlock, enough, alright? We know everything there is to know, it's going to be fine. What's going to give us away is if you're still this stressed when we arrive. C'mere, yeah?" 

It took some shuffling, but once John had pushed down the armrest between them, he was able to coax Sherlock into resting his head on John's shoulder. 

"Now, tell me," John said quietly, once they were settled. "Why are you so worried? This is going to work out perfectly fine."

Sherlock was silent for a long moment, and John settled a hand on Sherlock leg, just above his knee. "I've never had anyone to bring home before," he said eventually. "And I don't want...I just want it to go well." It was an obvious cop out of the question, but Sherlock was grateful when John let it slide and didn't ask anything further, instead simply rubbing his thumb back and forth against Sherlock's leg. 

How could Sherlock possibly explain that he was nervous because he was about to spend an entire weekend as John's boyfriend? He was filled with a sort of anxious anticipation. He was starting to realize that as enjoyable as it would be, it was going to be even more difficult to go back to simply being friends afterwards. Especially now that he knew how nice it was to sit this close to John. And that's not even to mention the possibility that something could happen this weekend to tip John off about how Sherlock really feels. Or perhaps his parents would see right through them from the start and it would be over before it had even begun. So many things could go wrong, and Sherlock was worrying about every single one of them.

But he couldn't say any of that to John, so instead he left his answer at what he'd already said and fell silent once again. John let them sit in silence until the woman from the trolley arrived with two teas. 

"Here you go, tea for you and your partner," she said kindly, handing the styrofoam cups over. 

"See?" John said once she was out of earshot. "She thinks we’re dating. You don't have to be nervous, we're fooling people already."

Sherlock frowned. "She said partner, she probably thinks we're business partners or something. I doubt she meant romantic partner," he rationalised.

"Sherlock, we're basically cuddling on the train right now, I really don't think her first guess would be business partners," John replied, his lips tugged up in a half smile.

Sherlock huffed out a breath before sitting up and accepting the tea from John. 

"Well, if we can fool the tea trolley lady, then obviously we can fool my parents as well," he grumbled under his breath.

John couldn't help but chuckle. "Really, Sherlock, it's all going to be fine. Just relax."

//

Sherlock did end up relaxing. He fell asleep against John's shoulder shortly after finishing his tea. John woke him when they arrived by nudging him gently. It was not at all an unpleasant way to be woken. 

John grabbed both of their bags and they headed off the train and into the station. 

"We just getting a cab then?" John asked, gesturing towards the lineup of black cars outside the main doors. 

Sherlock nodded, and they had just begun to make their way towards the first car when a voice shrieked out Sherlock's name. Sherlock froze, his eyes closing momentarily, as John looked up and saw a woman barrelling towards them. She was tall and thin, much like Sherlock, and her hair was curly as well, though hers had gone grey. 

She enveloped Sherlock in her arms as soon as she was near him, and John looked on, a small smile on his face. Sherlock looked younger somehow, in his Mum's arms, though he was slightly taller than her. 

"Oh, Sherlock, it's so good to see you," she said, pulling away and patting his cheeks. "It's been far too long, you never visit! And this must be John," she continued, turning to him. Her eyes were sharp, but they softened slightly when she glanced down at the bags in John's hands. "Oh, such a gentleman, carrying your bags! What a lucky son I have," she continued, giving Sherlock's cheek a small pinch. Sherlock looked mortified. 

John grinned and set the bags down so he could extend a hand to Sherlock's mum. "Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Holmes," he said politely. 

"Oh, please, call me Violet," she replied, ignoring John's hand and going in for a hug instead. 

"Mummy, what are you doing here? I told you we'd take a cab," Sherlock asked, once Mummy had finally let go of John. He’d been planning on keeping John away from his parents for as long as possible, and he’d wanted the cab ride to warn John about what they were like, and maybe even fit in another few minutes of practice. He should have known that Mummy would show up and ruin his plan, she’d never been one to sit around waiting.

Mummy waved him off as she began to lead them through the parking lot. "Don't be silly, Sherlock. Your father is taking care of dinner and I can drive. Besides, I was eager to meet your boyfriend! He's very handsome, you know," she said conspiratorially. 

"Mummy," Sherlock groaned, mortified. Apparently, he was going to need to get used to be mortified this weekend. A terrible idea. This had all been a terrible idea. What had he been thinking?

"What? Am I embarrassing you? He is handsome, Sherlock," Mummy continued. "A handsome army doctor, he was certainly worth the wait, wasn't he?"

"Mummy!" Sherlock said again, resisting the urge to cover his blushing cheeks. 

John simply chuckled. "Well, thank you Violet, I'm glad you think so. It was worth the wait for me too though. I feel like I'm the lucky one," he said with a smile, nudging Sherlock with his elbow. 

"And charming too," Mummy said happily. "Oh, Sherlock, I'm so pleased."

"Yes, thank you," Sherlock grumbled. "John's fantastic, I'm very lucky. That's enough now."

They'd arrived at the car at this point, and John insisted on sitting in the back with their bags, so Sherlock ended up in front next to Mummy, who chattered away for most of the ride. Sherlock was only half listening, he was much too busy thinking about how on earth he was going to survive an entire weekend of this. 

//

When they arrived, Sherlock could tell that John was trying not to gape at the house and the sprawling grounds. As Mummy went ahead to unlock the front door, John grabbed Sherlock's elbow. 

"I knew you were well-off, but Christ, Sherlock, I didn't know your parents were bloody millionaires!" he hissed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think it was relevant!" Sherlock whispered back. "Now hurry up, I'm sure you can tell that Mummy is not a patient woman. And Father will want to meet you." With that, he marched off towards the house, leaving John to get the bags once again. 

Sherlock made his way into the kitchen, where he could hear his parents' voices, with John trailing close behind. 

"He's charming, Siger, he was carrying both of their bags! And he's handsome too!" Mummy was saying as Father wiped his hands on a dishtowel. 

"Good to see you, son," he said, interrupting Mummy's praise of John. "You're looking well." He pulled Sherlock into a quick hug, as Mummy piped in with - 

"That's because he has someone looking after him now!"

John chuckled and set their bags down as Father pulled back and clapped Sherlock on the shoulder. 

"Mummy is more excited to see John than me," Sherlock grumbled and Father laughed, turning to John. 

"Nice to meet you, John," he said, extending his hand.

John shook it with a smile. "You too, Mr. Holmes," he replied. 

"Siger," Violet corrected. "None of that Mr. and Mrs. Holmes nonsense, not for Sherlock's boyfriend."

"Partner," Sherlock said under his breath. 

"You have a lovely home," John said sincerely and Mummy waved him off. 

"Thank you, dear. Just wait until you see Sherlock's room though, he hasn't let me touch it since he moved out more than fifteen years ago!" she exclaimed. "You may as well go see it now, spend some time settling in."

"Dinner's in a half hour," Father added. 

"Sounds perfect," John said with an easy smile, grabbing their bags once again and turning to Sherlock. "Lead the way, love."

Sherlock was fairly certain that his brain had just stalled. Love. John had called him love. They hadn't discussed pet names, but perhaps Sherlock should have been expecting it. It was mild and casual, as far as pet names went, but Sherlock still found himself frozen in place as his parents and John looked on in concern. 

"Sherlock?" John asked after a moment. "You alright? Have you deleted the way to your old room?"

Sherlock gave himself a quick shake and spun on his heel out of the kitchen. "No, of course not," he said briskly. "Come along, John."

When they were about half way up the stairs, Mummy poked her head out of the kitchen. 

"Oh, I forgot to mention! Sherlock, your brother is coming for dinner as well! Isn't that nice? He should be here soon." she said cheerfully. 

Sherlock and John had both frozen on the stairs, but John was the first to recover. "Sounds lovely, Violet. I haven't see Mycroft in awhile. We'll be down shortly!" With that, he nudged Sherlock, who finally managed to regain control over his limbs and continue up the stairs.

When they arrived at his room, Sherlock quickly ushered John inside and closed the door. Mycroft was coming, and they needed a plan.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds his old jeans, Mycroft arrives, and family dinner is had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has left lovely comments and kudos so far! It means a lot to me! :) <3

"What are we going to do?" John hissed as soon as Sherlock's bedroom door closed behind them.

Sherlock had already begun to pace. Bloody Mycroft, ruining everything all the time.

"Mycroft knows we're not dating, Sherlock, and even if he believed that we might be, he'll see right through us as soon as he arrives, no matter how good we are at faking it," John said, sitting heavily on the bed.

"I'm well aware of all of that," Sherlock grumbled. "I'll take care of it," he said grudgingly, pulling his phone out. "You can unpack, if you'd like. I think the middle drawer is empty."

_Suddenly you're interested in having a family dinner? SH_

_Unlike you, Sherlock, I actually have dinner with our parents on a regular basis. I will admit, I was surprised to hear that we would be joined by you and your long-time beau. MH_

_Don't give us away, and I'll do the legwork on one of your cases. SH_

_Three cases. MH_

_Two. SH_

_Deal. MH_

"It's taken care of," Sherlock said, looking back up at John. "Mycroft won't say anything. I promised him two cases."

John had just finished emptying their luggage into Sherlock's drawer. "Why is he even coming?" John asked, tucking their empty bags in the corner. 

"To make us suffer," Sherlock said dramatically, flopping back on his bed.

John chuckled. "Well, if he's promised not to say anything, it should be fine." He wandered over to Sherlock's desk, gazing up at the bulletin board. "Tell me about your room? Is that a picture of a cadaver?" he asked, sounding only mildly alarmed and mostly curious.

"Yes, from when I snuck into my first autopsy," Sherlock replied absently. "It wasn't nearly as exciting as I'd hoped."

John laughed but before he could say anything further, Sherlock's phone vibrated again. "Mycroft," Sherlock grumbled once he'd checked it. 

_Are you certain that this is a good idea, Sherlock? MH_

"What does he want now?" John asked as he scanned Sherlock's bookshelf.

"Nothing, he's just gloating," Sherlock said, his displeasure evident in his tone and on his face. 

_Piss off, Mycroft. It's none of your business. SH_

_I'm simply looking out for you, Sherlock. MH_

_I don't need you to look out for me. SH_

_Oh? So you'll be completely fine when this weekend is over and John goes back to dating women? MH_

_Fuck off. SH_

_Think about it. MH_

"Everything okay?" John asked. While Sherlock had been distracted he'd sat down at the desk and started flipping through one of Sherlock's old notebooks from school. "Your face is all scrunched up and you were jabbing the screen like it had personally offended you."

"Just Mycroft, trying to make me do the legwork on three cases instead of two," Sherlock lied smoothly. 

John rolled his eyes. "Two is enough, we're not asking much of him. He doesn't even really have to do anything." he said. 

Sherlock nodded absently, wandering over to his wardrobe and pulling the top drawer open. "I wonder if these still fit," he mused, pulling out a pair of jeans. 

"Sherlock Holmes used to wear jeans?" John asked teasingly. "I'll believe that when I see it."

"Is that a challenge?" Sherlock asked, his eyes sparking.

"I suppose it is," John said with a smirk, his arms crossed over his chest. "Go on. There's no way those still fit you."

Sherlock glared at John as he crossed the room and closed himself in the en suite bathroom. The jeans were tight, to say the least. He was thin now, but he'd been even thinner and scrawny in high school, before he'd taken up boxing in university. But there was no way he was allowing John to be right, and if he couldn't really bend his knees, well, that hopefully wouldn't prove to be a problem. He managed to get them zipped up and buttoned and that's what really mattered.

When he emerged with a smug look on his face, John looked him over appraisingly, his gaze lingering on Sherlock's upper thighs. His tongue darted out to wet his lips which Sherlock determinedly pretended not to notice. John licked his lips all the time, it was simply a habit and had nothing to do with the jeans, surely.

"Those are obscenely tight," John said finally, seeming to have a hard time looking away.

"Good, they'll annoy Mycroft," Sherlock replied with a pleased smile.

"You are not wearing those to dinner," John said incredulously. "Sherlock, there's no room for you to eat anything."

Sherlock shrugged. "You know I never eat much anyways. And they're comfortable." That wasn't true in the slightest but he was proving a point. Lying was necessary.

John snorted. "There's absolutely no way those are comfortable," he said, one eyebrow raised as he finally managed to draw his gaze back up to Sherlock's face.

Sherlock was about to respond when his mother's voice came from downstairs.

"Boys! Dinner!" she called. "Mycroft's here and the table is set!"

"Sherlock, you've proved your point. The jeans fit. Sort of. You're not honestly wearing those to dinner, are you?" John asked.

Sherlock didn't bother answering and instead pushed past John and out of his bedroom. He thought he heard John mutter something along the lines of "bloody distracting skinny jeans" before following.

"Baby brother," Mycroft greeted Sherlock with a displeased frown. "Those jeans were too tight when you were sixteen and they're still too tight now." Sherlock scowled but was interrupted before he could retort.

"Oh, Mycroft, leave your brother alone," Mummy chastised, though she still had a wide smile on her face. "If Sherlock wants to wear his silly tight jeans while he's here, that's up to him. We haven't had the whole family together in ages, and with a guest too! Be polite, say hello to John."

"Dr. Watson," Mycroft said politely with a slight incline of his head.

"Food's getting cold!" Father shouted from the dining room.

"Yes, enough chit-chat about my jeans, you know how Father gets when he has to wait for us for dinner," Sherlock said, breezing past all of them. Mummy followed close behind and immediately dictated the seating arrangement.

Sherlock ended up between Father and John, with Mycroft across from him.  


Sitting was uncomfortable, to say the least. The jeans really were incredibly tight, and Sherlock could feel them digging in to his stomach. He considered undoing the button, but John would certainly notice that, so he resisted. He could ignore it for the time being. Mostly.

Father dished food out on to their plates.Sherlock rolled his eyes at the heaping piles of food that were forced on him but didn't even bother protesting, knowing that it would be fruitless. Between Mummy, Father, and John, there was no way he was getting out of eating. Sherlock took a bite of potatoes, and caught Mummy beaming at him. He rolled his eyes again.

"Mycroft, how's work?" Father asked.

"Busy, as usual," Mycroft replied primly. "We're making good progress with Yemen, but I'm afraid that I really can't say anything further on that and I don't want to bore you. Besides, I thought this dinner was about Sherlock and Dr. Watson," he said, offering Sherlock a pained smile. Sherlock resisted the urge to fling peas at him like he used to do when they were children. Of course Mycroft was going to make this as difficult as possible.

"It is!" Mummy said excitedly. "Oh, John, you have to tell me. How did you two get together? Sherlock won't say, the silly boy. I know he was pining after you for quite awhile beforehand, and -"  


"Mummy," Sherlock ground out, his knuckles gone white around his fork. He cursed himself for what felt like the hundredth time for getting himself into this mess.

John simply smiled and stretched his right arm across the back of Sherlock's chair, resting it there comfortably. Sherlock tried not to think about the fact that he could feel John's thumb rubbing between his shoulder blades. 

"It was during a case," John replied. "This idiot with his bloody gazelle legs ran off ahead of me and got shot at." Despite his words, his tone was soft and fond as he turned to face Sherlock, his thumb brushing back and forth against his spine. "Turned out the bullet had just grazed his leg. But I heard the gunshot, saw him fall, saw all the blood, and I just...couldn't ignore it any longer, you know? I just told him how I felt, how I still feel now, while I put pressure on the wound in an abandoned warehouse. Not very romantic."

"Oh, no, John, it's incredibly romantic!" Mummy gushed. Sherlock saw Mycroft roll his eyes.

"We're glad there's someone looking out for him," Father said gruffly as Mummy nodded in agreement.

Sherlock could remember the case, though without the love confession, of course. John had seemed rather panicked when Sherlock had gotten shot, but it really hadn't been all that serious, which Sherlock had tried to explain, but John had shushed him, covered the wound, ignored his protests and insisted that he go to the hospital. He'd even stayed with him while he'd gotten stitches.

"And then Sherlock told you that he felt the same?" Mummy asked, still looking riveted by the story.

"Later, at the hospital," John replied with a nod. "He didn't tell me so much as I had to ask him while he was getting stitches and couldn't run away on me, but we got there eventually." He offered Sherlock a smile that softened his features, and Sherlock hoped he was doing an adequate job of returning it. Mummy made cooing noises at them.

"How heart-warming," Mycroft said dryly. Sherlock stuck his tongue out at him. John snorted. Father frowned. Mummy giggled.

"Now, I have to admit, I wasn't overly impressed when I learned that you two were already living together," Father said gruffly, staring hard at John. Braver men than John had quaked under that look but John didn't seem phased in the slightest. "However, Violet here has convinced me that I was being old-fashioned and that things are different these days, particularly for people who are...like you," Father waved a hand absently in their direction and John raised an eyebrow.

"Like us?" John asked mildly. It was the same tone of voice John used before tackling criminals to the ground, particularly when they'd threatened Sherlock. Sherlock tilted his head slightly, looking between Father and John, trying to figure out why John was perceiving Father as a threat to Sherlock's well-being.

"He's trying to say that he approves," Mummy broke in cheerfully, giving Father a reproachful look.

"That's not...exactly what I meant," Father said. "But...I am glad that Sherlock's not alone. And John, you seem like a good man."

Apparently that was good enough for Mummy. John relaxed marginally as well, and he withdrew his arm from the back of Sherlock's chair in order to pick up his knife and continue eating. Sherlock ignored the part of him that was disappointed.

//

The rest of the meal went off without much fanfare, and soon the table was cleared, the dishes were done (John had insisted on helping and Mummy and gone on and on about how helpful he was), and Mummy was ushering them all into the sitting room.

"John, I pulled these out when Sherlock said you were coming to visit," Mummy was saying as they all filed obediently through the doorway.

"You make it sound as though I chose this voluntarily," Sherlock grumbled under his breath. John nudged him gently with his elbow.

"I think I found most of them, they were tucked away in the basement," Mummy continued, as though there had been no interruption.

"No," Sherlock said firmly, stopping in his tracks when he noticed the stack of photo albums on the coffee table. "Mummy, no," he said again.

"Oh, Sherlock, come on! It'll be fun! And John wants to see your pictures, right John?" Mummy cajoled.

"I definitely want to see Sherlock's pictures, Violet," John said, eagerly settling himself on the sofa. "Sherlock, come sit. Don't be a spoilsport. I'm sure you were adorable."

Sherlock groaned and dropped himself (stiffly, due to the jeans) onto the sofa beside John. Mummy settled on John's other side, already pulling an album onto John's lap. Mycroft and Father were already speaking in low tones in the armchairs across the room. Sherlock tried to eavesdrop for a moment before deciding that whatever they were talking about was probably boring. When he refocused on the photos, Mummy and John were already on the second page and were both exclaiming over a picture of Sherlock as a toddler in the bathtub.

"Mummy!" he groaned. "Why are you showing John naked pictures of me?"

"Oh, Sherlock, you were just a baby! And it's not as though it's anything that John hasn't seen before, I'm sure," Mummy said with a wink. "Though you're not this small anymore, certainly."

"For goodness sake," Sherlock spluttered as John merely chuckled. Sherlock was not sure what John was finding so humorous, considering that his mother was alluding to their sex life. Their hypothetical sex life, but still.  


"You're adorable," John said, a smile nearly splitting his face as Mummy turned the page to show a picture of Sherlock at four years old, with Redbeard, the first day that the puppy was brought home.

As Mummy turned the page again to reveal Sherlock at his first ballet recital, John reached out to rest a hand on Sherlock's knee. Sherlock was proud of himself for not jerking in surprise, and John gave his knee a gentle squeeze. John's hand was warm, Sherlock could feel the heat through his jeans, and it was surprisingly pleasant. It was John's hand on his knee that kept Sherlock in place, enduring the photos for another fifteen minutes. Photos of him missing his front teeth, him at his first violin recital, many pictures of him and Redbeard, and him dancing.

When Mummy turned the page to show Sherlock at age thirteen with his braces, he couldn't take it anymore. "I need the loo," he said, standing, and ignoring how cold his knee felt without John's hand. He'd never really noticed his knees feeling cold before.

He did go to the loo, but once he was finished there, he headed for the back door instead, stepping out into the back yard and taking a deep breath. He loved London, he really did, and he couldn't imagine living anywhere but the city, but he did miss this. The fresh air, the quiet, the green grass. It was a bit chilly without his jacket but Sherlock wasn't going back inside for it, he'd never be able to slip away twice. He stepped off the porch and began walking the familiar path that he hadn't taken much recently, but which he'd done often in his teenage years.

Through the gardens, through a small wooded area, and soon Sherlock was beside the pond. He'd only been standing there for a short while, gazing out at the water and a small family of ducks in the reeds, when he heard footsteps behind him.

"Brother mine," Mycroft said, stopping beside him and following his gaze out onto the pond.

"I remember falling in," Sherlock said abruptly. "To the pond. I was following a frog and I fell in. You pulled me out."

"I did," Mycroft said with a nod. "But you were only three years old, Sherlock. You don't remember it. You only remember the story as you’ve heard it."

Sherlock shook his head. "No, I remember it," he insisted.

"Then you'll remember that I was only looking out for you then, as I still am now," Mycroft replied. "You're reckless, Sherlock. You dive in headfirst without thinking through the consequences of your actions. This weekend, your plan, it’s…” Mycroft trailed off and heaved out a sigh. “I’ll contact you about the cases you owe me,” he said eventually, giving Sherlock one last look before heading back towards the house. 

Sherlock was curious about what Mycroft had started to say before interrupting himself, but he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the pond, lost in thought, as the sun set and darkness fell around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think so far?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John share a bed. More cuddling happens, obviously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Real life is busy and all that. 
> 
> Warning for this chapter: There is discussion of parental homophobia, but it is in the past and It doesn't go into much detail. Skip the second section if that's not your cup of tea!

Sherlock remained outside for a significant amount of time, though he wasn't keeping track. The sun had set fully by the time he slowly made his way back to the house. When he arrived, Mummy was out on the porch wrapping a shawl around herself.

"Oh, Sherlock, darling, I was just coming to find you!" she said worriedly. "Mycroft said you were fine before he left, but John was getting worried and so was I. Look at you, you're freezing! Come inside, we were just about to have our bedtime tea."

Sherlock was ushered inside and back into the sitting room, where John was busy pouring tea into four cups. John looked up and immediately frowned when he saw Sherlock.

"You're shivering," he said, as Sherlock took a seat on the sofa. "Why on earth did you go out there for so long without your coat?"

John took a blanket off the back of one of the armchairs and tucked it around Sherlock's shoulders. It didn't register as a particularly romantic gesture to Sherlock, seeing as John regularly made sure that Sherlock didn't freeze to death, but Mummy was beaming at them as though she'd never seen anything more beautiful in her life. Sherlock ignored her.

"I was thinking," he replied, accepting the tea that John was holding out to him, already prepared exactly as he liked it.

"You couldn't think inside? Or at least with your coat on?" John asked, his tone both exasperated and fond at the same time.

Sherlock shrugged and didn't offer any further response as John settled in beside him and Mummy called for Father to join them.

Sherlock and John finished their tea quickly, and Sherlock was immensely grateful when John yawned and Mummy sent the two of them up to bed. He didn't know if he'd be able to stand another conversation with the pair of them about his supposed relationship with John. Or worse yet, if Mummy pulled the photo albums out again.

//

Sherlock relaxed marginally once his bedroom door was closed and they were away from his parents' scrutiny. John insisted that Sherlock use the bathroom first, which he hadn’t bothered arguing with, and he'd then changed while John was having his turn in the loo. He climbed into bed on his usual side, further from the door, and pulled out his phone to scroll through his inbox.

Only a few minutes had passed when John emerged from the bathroom clad in a loose t-shirt and his boxers. Sherlock glanced at him momentarily and then forced his gaze back to his phone screen. It wouldn’t do to stare. John settled in to bed and was silent for a minute before he spoke.

"Anything interesting?" he asked, lying flat on his back.

"Not particularly," Sherlock responded, silencing his phone and setting it on his bedside table. "Nothing worth our time."

John nodded and reached for the lamp. "You okay with lights out?" he asked, waiting for Sherlock to nod before clicking the light out and settling on his back once again.

Sherlock became much more aware of their proximity in the dark. He thought he could feel John's body heat, but that didn't make much sense as they were lying a foot apart. He could hear John's breathing but the room was silent other than that for a long moment.

"When did you come out to your parents?" John asked eventually, breaking the silence abruptly, though his voice was soft. He wasn't looking at Sherlock, he was still on his back with his gaze facing upwards and his hands folded on his stomach.

Sherlock darted a curious look over at him before looking back up at the ceiling as well. It was unlike John to pry, particularly about something so personal. But if anyone other than John had asked, Sherlock certainly wouldn't be pondering his answer.

"I never did, exactly," Sherlock replied eventually, his voice pitched low to match John's. "They found out because they saw me. With someone."

"Ah," John said, somehow managing to make it sound sympathetic.

"We were just holding hands," Sherlock said, his eyes fixed determinedly on the ceiling. "I was in an orchestra, for a short while, and he played the cello. Thomas, that was his name. He was one of the only friends I had as a teenager. We'd discussed...I knew he was gay as well. We never made anything official or did anything more than sit close to each other and hold hands, but that was incriminating enough, apparently."

John hummed encouragingly and that was all it took for Sherlock to continue. He hadn't thought about it in ages, had made a point of not thinking about it, but something about being in the dark, and pointedly not looking at John's face was making it easier to think about. And if he was ever going to tell anyone about it, of course it would be John.

"Father found us holding hands one day, while we were studying in my room,” Sherlock continued. “He kicked Thomas out, threatened to tell his parents, and told me that I was never to spend time with him in the future. Thomas never spoke to me again after that."

"I'm sorry," John said gently, turning over on his side to face Sherlock.

Sherlock shrugged but remained on his back. "Father yelled at me often for about a week afterwards, and then suddenly stopped. He didn't speak to me at all for months. He'd always hated that I was in ballet so I quit, thinking that it might appease him. It didn't," he said plainly. "It wasn't until I'd moved out that Mummy was slowly able to convince him to talk to me again. It got better after that, I suppose. And you saw how we are now."

"He's come a long way then," John commented. "Still, that must have been awful for you." He fell silent for a moment before speaking again. "I'm glad he hasn't threatened to tell my mum," he added with a slight chuckle.

Sherlock snorted and finally turned over on his side to face John as well. "Would it be a surprise for her?" he asked. He wouldn’t normally expect John to answer such a personal question, but it seemed that the darkness had made them both brave.

John shrugged. "I don't know," he replied. "I think she would pretend to be surprised. I've never told her, but I think she figured it out. When Harry came out and my mum kicked her out it made her stance pretty clear, and we were distant after that. I've never really forgiven her for it, if I'm being honest, and we barely keep in touch anymore, as you know. I spent so long feeling ashamed and not wanting to disappoint her too, but now it just makes me angry. Probably not very healthy to hold on to a grudge like that for over twenty years," he added with a dry laugh.

Sherlock was quiet for a long moment. "And your father? Does he know?" he asked eventually.

John huffed out a breath. "The bastard left when I was nine years old and I haven't heard from him since, not even a bloody birthday card. So no, he doesn't know."

Sherlock wasn't entirely sure what to say to that, so he remained silent, and rolled over on to his back. He found himself getting angry on John's behalf. How could anyone walk out on John and not keep in touch? John was quite probably the best person in the entire world and Sherlock could not fathom it.

They were both silent for a long moment, Sherlock gazing up at the ceiling, and John gazing over at Sherlock.

"Do you think they're buying it?" John asked eventually, breaking the silence.

Sherlock nodded. "They are," he replied. "You're a surprisingly good actor, quite convincing."

"Yeah," John said quietly, turning away from Sherlock with a sigh. "That's good. Good night, Sherlock."

It seemed a rather abrupt ending to what had just minutes ago been a rather personal conversation, but Sherlock knew that John would be grumpy if he didn't get enough sleep, so he simply echoed John's "good night," rolled over to put his hack to John, and closed his eyes.

//

Sherlock woke as light was beginning to creep in past his curtains. It was early, he could tell from how soft the light was, and the house was still silent and still, and Sherlock was incredibly, unusually warm. The reason for that took a few seconds to register in Sherlock's brain, which was still fuzzy with sleep.

John had an arm slung over Sherlock's waist and was curled around him, John's chest to Sherlock's back. Spooning, Sherlock's brain provided unhelpfully.

It was a tolerable enough arrangement; John was very warm, and the arm wrapped around his waist was not constricting as Sherlock had expected it to feel, but was actually a rather pleasant weight. Sherlock noted after a moment that he could feel John's chest expanding slightly as he inhaled, and there was something very intimate about that.

And therein lay the problem. Their intimacy was supposed to be conditional based on the need to convince his parents of their courtship. His parents were decidedly not in the room with them at the moment, meaning that there was no need for them to be lying so close together and spooning, of all things. John would be mortified when he woke, unless Sherlock was able to sneak away without waking him.

Sherlock wriggled slightly and when John didn't react other than a slightly more forceful exhale, Sherlock began to carefully shimmy away from him and towards the edge of the bed. He was nearly in the clear when John's arm tightened, tugging him slightly back against John's chest.

"S'early," John mumbled sleepily, and Sherlock could feel his breath ghosting on the back of his neck. "S'too early. Sleep more, Sher."

Sherlock remained tense for a long moment before he gave in and settled. John wanted to spoon him, it seemed. He was aware of it, and he was aware that it was Sherlock he was cuddling, as was evidenced by his use of the first half of Sherlock’s name. Had John suddenly developed a nickname for him? Or had he simply fallen asleep halfway through saying his name? Something to take note of in the future, he supposed.

It seemed as though John wasn't going to give him much choice in the matter, so Sherlock didn't bother fighting it. He could do with a few more hours sleep anyway, so he closed his eyes and dozed off, John's arm still warm and snug around him.

//

Sherlock awoke again several hours later, judging by the changed angle of the sunlight. He squinted, disoriented, as he turned over. John was just closing the door with his elbow, while also juggling two steaming mugs of coffee and a plate of toast.

"Oh, you're awake," he said with a smile. "Good morning. Coffee's fresh, just as you like it. And I made toast. Your parents have gone for a walk, so we can have a bit of a lazy morning, if you like."

"You brought me breakfast in bed," Sherlock stated, his voice slightly raspy with disuse, as he propped himself blearily against the headboard.

"What can I say, I'm an excellent boyfriend," John replied with a smirk, handing Sherlock his coffee and settling against the headboard beside him.

Sherlock snorted. "Coffee and toast is hardly a breakfast feast worth bragging about," he said, sipping from his mug and letting out a quiet, pleased hum.

"Well, if I was really trying to woo you, there's be a five course homemade meal, flowers, maybe even a massage if you were lucky, the works," John said with a chuckle. "But for now you'll have to be content with the toast and coffee. The toast has got some fancy posh jams on it though, so the meal isn't completely boring. Eat some," he insisted, forcing Sherlock to wrap his fingers around one of the pieces of toast. "Eat your breakfast, most important meal of the day, they say."

"Who are 'they'? And why do 'they' get a say in my eating habits?" Sherlock grumbled, though he took a bite of toast without further complaint and tried not to think about how much he'd like for John to give him the wooing version of this breakfast in bed.

John ignored Sherlock's grumbling and instead took a bite of his own toast. "Christ, this is good jam," he commented, licking crumbs off his lips. Sherlock definitely didn't notice.

"They sell it in town, we can get some to bring back if you like," Sherlock commented.

"Oh, yeah, let's do that," John said with a nod. "It's much better than what we get a Tesco. Which you would know if you ever bothered to eat breakfast. Now chew," he said, grabbing Sherlock's wrist gently and manoeuvring the toast to his mouth.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but did take another bite of toast, chewing exaggeratedly while maintaining eye contact with John, who merely chuckled.

"Good," he said, turning back to his own toast. "Now, you finish that whole piece, Sherlock Holmes."

As Sherlock methodically ate his piece of toast (eating the crust off first until he was left with a roundish crustless piece) and contemplated the cuddling that had taken place. He hadn't dreamed it, surely. And granted, it wasn't all that different from what they'd practiced on the sofa back home. But no one had been around to see it, and John had already said that they'd practiced enough. 

So why on earth had John spooned him all night long? Had he done it in his sleep, the talking included? Did he not remember it now? Or did he actually want to spoon Sherlock? Was it normal for two friends to spoon when sharing a bed?

Evidently, Sherlock would have to spend more thinking about it, perhaps do some research next time he was alone. And until then, John and the spooning would remain a mystery. 

Sherlock forced himself not to hope that it would happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think so far! And thank you so much to everyone who has left comments, you guys are lovely <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John spend some time in the market and run in to someone from Sherlock's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your patience on this one! I know it's been awhile. Season 4 sort of wrecked me and I've been super busy with classes and work and rehearsals, so I hope this was worth the wait!
> 
> There is some discussion of bullying that happened in Sherlock's past, so skip the last section if that's not something you want to read.
> 
> Also, sorry for any confusion the username change has caused!

Once they'd finished eating their breakfast in bed, John had insisted on washing the dishes while Sherlock dressed. As he joined John in the kitchen, he was immediately wary of the determined look on John's face. 

"What is it that you're looking so single-minded about?" he asked suspiciously. 

"I want a tour of your childhood," John said without pause. 

"A tour of my childhood," Sherlock repeated skeptically. "What on earth do you mean by that? You've already seen the photo albums and I refuse to look at those again."

John shook his head. "No, not photos," he replied. "I want to see all the places that were important to you, growing up. I've seen your room. I want to see the other places in this frankly enormous house where you spent your time, I want to see where you ran off to last night, and I want to go into town and see your school and all that. And we can pick up some jam while we're there."

Sherlock was silent for a long moment before he eventually nodded. "Alright then," he said. "We can do that, I suppose."

"Good," John said, looking very pleased with himself. 

Sherlock was at a bit of a loss as to why John wanted to see places from his childhood and teenage years, but he wasn't opposed to spending the day with John around the house and around town so he wasn't planning on protesting. 

"Well. Follow me then," Sherlock said after only a moment's thought. He led John through the house until they reached the library. It wasn't a huge room and ‘library’ was perhaps a generous term for it, but the walls were covered in shelves and the shelves were all full of books. There was a small fireplace in one corner, some armchairs near it, and a large wooden desk on the other side of the room. 

Sherlock was silent for a moment as he let John take a look around the room. "I spent a lot of time here, as a child and as a teenager," he said eventually. "When I was younger, I would bring my bedsheets down from my room and build a fort under the desk. Once I outgrew that, I always sat in this chair." He gestured towards one of the large armchairs and then the bookshelf beside it. "The books on this shelf are mostly mine."

He watched as John made his way over to the shelf he'd indicated, drawing his fingers gently over the spines of the books. Sherlock wondered why this felt so personal and intimate, letting John see his interests from his younger days. 

"It's not all that different from your bookshelf at Baker Street," John mused. "Still lots of books about bees and chemistry and serial killers. Oh, but here's Treasure Island. Makes sense, you and your thing for pirates. I read that one a lot too, when I was young."

John looked around the room for a few minutes longer in silence, even spending a moment over at the desk before heading back towards the door. 

"What's next?" he asked. 

Sherlock didn't bother responding, and instead stepped past John to lead the way towards the back of the house and eventually to an enclosed sun room that looked out on the property. "I used to play my violin out here rather often," he explained, as John went right up to the window and gazed out. "Particularly at night, when my parents were sleeping and would get angry with me for keeping them up when I played in my room. It was very serene in the dark."

John nodded and crossed the room to gaze out at the other side.

"I used to practice my ballet here as well, Mummy and Father added all the potted plants after I quit," he added. "For a long time it was an empty room, which was ideal for practicing. I was rarely bothered out here."

John was quiet as he gazed around the room. "I can picture it," he said eventually. "I saw pictures of you at your recitals, and I can picture you in those outfits dancing around in here in the moonlight, all graceful and brooding."  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You're romanticizing it," he commented. 

"Perhaps," John admitted with a smile before turning back to the window. "Is that where you went last night?" he asked, pointing towards the path that disappeared into the wooded area. 

Sherlock nodded, joining John at the window. "Past there, in fact," he replied, pointing just above the treeline. "Do you see the pond?"

John squinted and nodded. "Can we go there next?" he asked. 

Sherlock nodded and reached for the screen door leaving directly from the sun room. 

"Oi, you're not going out without a coat this time," John said firmly, grabbing Sherlock by the hand and tugging him back into the house. "And you're in your sock feet, Christ, Sherlock. Shoes and coat first. You must have been a menace as a teenager, running off to the pond all the time without any shoes on, Jesus."

It was John that led them back through the house this time, Sherlock's hand still firmly grasped in his, showing no intention of letting go. And if John wanted to hold hands when no one else was around, then who was Sherlock to pull away?

//

In the end, they decided to save the walk to the pond for that evening and to go into town instead. Sherlock drove them, taking the long route and slowing the car down outside of certain locations in order to point them out, such as his high school, the performance hall where his ballet recitals took place, the orchestra hall, and even the veterinary clinic where he used to take Redbeard for checkups. It all seemed a bit ridiculous to him, but John seemed enraptured by it all, and kept asking what else they could see. 

Eventually, Sherlock drove them into the main square, where there were booths set out in the market. It was fairly busy given that it was a Saturday, and Sherlock would normally avoid this sort of thing, but he knew John would enjoy it, and they'd be able to pick up some of the jam John had liked so much. 

They'd barely taken two steps out of the car once Sherlock had parked when John took him by the hand once again, twining their fingers together. Sherlock must have looked surprised, because John shrugged with a: "What? We might see someone who knows your parents. And it's good practice!" Sherlock didn't bother reminding him that they were already halfway through the visit and practicing seemed a bit ridiculous at that point. 

They browsed the stalls, and Sherlock was relieved when only a couple of people recognized him but didn't make a big deal out of it. 

They'd been in the market for a half hour or so and had just bought a few jars of jam when Sherlock heard his and John's names called. He turned to see Mummy and Father, both laden with bags, hurrying over towards them. 

"Well, what a lovely coincidence running in to you boys!" Mummy exclaimed happily. "Sherlock, what a nice idea to show John the market! And look at you, holding hands, so romantic."

"It's a wonderful town," John commented with a smile. "You've got an awful lot of bags with you, Violet, do you need any help with those?"

"Oh, I'll be fine, dear, thank you. So sweet. Siger can help. We're just picking up everything we need for the party!" Mummy said excitedly, handing another bag over to Father, who accepted it wordlessly. 

"The party?" John asked curiously.

"Yes, tomorrow night for my birthday!" Mummy said. "Did Sherlock not mention it? It's a shame that you can't stay, but since you're working the next morning, we understand completely, of course, that you'd want to leave in the afternoon. These parties always go late into the night!"

"No, Sherlock never mentioned it," John replied, glancing over at Sherlock. 

"I must have deleted it," Sherlock said, attempting to sound remorseful. 

"I didn't realize it was your birthday though, Violet. I could definitely text someone and get my shift covered, so that we can stay the extra night, if you don't mind having us," John said with a warm smile. 

Sherlock squeezed John's hand frantically and tried to catch his eye, shaking his head slightly, but John was determinedly not looking at him and smiling at his parents. 

"Oh, you're such a dear, but I wouldn't want you to have to change your schedule for us, John," Violet said, though her tone was not all that convincing. 

"Violet would love to have you both here for the party, I know," Siger piped in to the conversation. 

"Then it's settled," John said firmly. "I'll get someone to cover my shift and we'll stay for the party. Now, do you need us to pick anything else up?"

Sherlock tuned out the rest of the conversation, only vaguely hearing Mummy gush about what a gentleman John was and how excited she was that they would stay, while she passed over the rest of her shopping list. He was already dreading the party. So many people that he didn't even like, and the expectation to socialize; there was a reason he'd managed to avoid most of his parents' parties for the past ten years or so. And now John had gone and committed them to a birthday party where not only would he have to socialize with people he despised, but he would also have to continue pretending to be dating John. More and more people would believe the lie, and Sherlock would get more and more comfortable with the fantasy, making it all the more devastating when it would be over. A nightmare, that's what it was. 

//

Once they'd parted ways with Mummy and Father, Sherlock turned his frown openly on John. 

"Don't look at me like that," John said, completely unbothered by Sherlock’s grimace. "I can't believe you were going to get us to leave right before your mum's birthday party! You saw how happy this made her, and one more night won't kill us. Now come on, I told her we'd find some lilac napkins, she's got a colour theme going on apparently."

Sherlock sighed but let John drag him along by the hand through the market in search of the napkins. Once they'd found them and John had picked up some scented candles to give to Mummy as a gift ("It's only polite, Sherlock, it's her birthday and she's hosting us"), they'd ducked into a café. John had excused himself to use the loo so Sherlock had ordered their drinks and settled in at a table by himself to wait. He was on his phone flicking through his inbox in search of a case that he could solve from afar when someone slid into the seat across from him. He didn't even bother looking up, assuming it was John, and slid one of the teas across the table. 

"Well, Sherlock Holmes, as I live and breathe. It's been ages." 

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment before looking up, a scowl firmly in place. He recognized that voice, didn't think he'd ever be able to forget it, no matter how many times he tried to delete it. 

"Andrew Morris," he said sourly. "It has been ages. I'd been hoping it would be even longer. The rest of my life, ideally."

Andrew laughed. "Oh, come on Sherlock, surely we can put high school behind us now and just catch up, as old friends do," he said patronizingly, grabbing John's tea and taking a sip. Sherlock was fairly certain that he could feel his blood boiling, despite knowing that that was scientifically impossible. 

"We are not friends," Sherlock snapped, glancing towards the washroom door and wishing John would just hurry up so they could leave. 

"But we had such fun together, back at school," Andrew mused, leaning back in his chair. Sherlock wished it would fall over. "There was the time we locked you in the supply closet overnight, that was a laugh. Oh, and in the lockers on occasion. Heckling your class presentations, ripping up your notes, shoving -"

"Who's this then?" John interrupted, coming to stand beside Sherlock, and raising an eyebrow across the table. Sherlock had been so distracted that he hadn't even noticed John joining them. 

"Name's Andrew Morris, Sherlock and I are old pals from way back when," Andrew replied before Sherlock could say anything. He held a hand out to John to shake. 

"We were never friends," Sherlock said shortly.

John glanced over at Sherlock and ignored Andrew's outstretched hand. 

"No, I suppose that's true, isn't it? You never really had any friends, bit of a loser, weren't you?" Andrew mused, dropping his hand and taking another sip from John's tea. "And you are?" he asked, gesturing lazily at John. 

"Doctor John Watson," Sherlock replied, before John had a chance to. "My flatmate."

Andrew let out a full-bellied laugh. "You found someone willing to live with you?" he asked, seeming incredibly amused by it all. "So which is it: are you paying him or is he as much of a freak as you are?"

"I'm his boyfriend, actually," John replied, sliding an arm around Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock could see his other hand out of the corner of his eye, and it was curled into a tight fist. "And you can fuck the hell off, you complete and utter waste of space."

"His boyfriend!" Andrew said gleefully. "I knew it! The dancing and the tights, and you were always staring at me and the team, I always knew you were a -"

Andrew was cut off when John grabbed him by the front of his shirt with one hand and hauled him up out of his chair, his knuckles white. "If you say one more word, you will regret it," he said, his voice pitched low. "I promise you. And I always keep my promises." He smiled, the dangerous smile that Sherlock was actually rather fond of, and it seemed even Andrew could tell that John was completely serious because he stayed quiet. "Good," John said, pleased. He tightened his grip momentarily before dropping Andrew back into his seat. "You ready to head out, Sherlock? I'm a bit peckish and I saw one of those stands out there selling some sandwiches."

Sherlock nodded and stood wordlessly, his tea gripped in one hand. 

"Oh, and this is mine, isn't it?" John said pleasantly, snatching his tea away from Andrew. "Pleasure to meet you." He offered Andrew one last smile before grabbing Sherlock's hand and tugging him to the door, dropping the nearly full cup of tea that Andrew had sipped from in the bin on his way out. 

John was silent as he led them to the booth that was indeed selling sandwiches, Sherlock's hand still tightly grasped in his. He didn't speak until they were settled on a bench and he'd handed half of the sandwich over to Sherlock, despite his protests. 

"Well, he's a tosser," John said conversationally once he'd swallowed his first bite. "Christ, no wonder you hated high school so much, if everyone was like him."

"He was one of the worst ones," Sherlock admitted. "But yes. People were not pleasant to me in school. It's one of the reasons I don't spend much time here, I don't like to risk running in to them."

John nodded. "I get that," he said around a mouthful of sandwich. "Sorry if I overreacted a bit back there. I know you can take care of yourself and all that, it's just smug bastards like him, they really get under my skin."

"It's fine, John," Sherlock reassured him. "In fact, I appreciated it. That was...good, so. Yes. Thank you."

"Anytime," John said, waving a hand dismissively with a wry smile. "You know me, always willing to put people in their place when they deserve it. And if they're pricks to you, then they definitely deserve it." 

Sherlock spent the rest of the afternoon trying to ignore the warmth that has spread through his chest at John's words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has stuck around this far, your lovely comments are what brought me back to this story! <3


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